“Ponder then wonder what if…” is a project in collaboration with my older brother Markus Zeller. It is a book containing 21 different colour prints of art work and 20 different kinds of prose that compliment the image. Markus wrote a text to each painting that I sent him on a regular basis.
The paintings are pure fantasy which evoke one’s imagination to discover various scenes amongst the lines and blending colours. The writing is intended to entertain, or at times tease how we see the world and simultaneously have you mumble, “Oh that is a perspective I haven’t thought of.”
Both the paintings and the writings describe an emotion, show a sense of humour and have us wonder and think about the topic being addressed.
The book is a coffee-table book intended for all readers who seek to take a break, relax and daydream in their own thoughts about life and nature around us. The subjects covered are all something we can relate to from our life experiences.
We are all e-connected yet so disconnected.
Identities are incognito behind user IDs and passwords.
Ambitions are relentlessly hunted down online.
Aspirations are said to be way out of line.
Dreams tease of being special and not having to stand in line.
Wondering, shall I walk on this side or that side of the line?
Yesterday my Gucci shoes glided over the shiny granite floor in the bank.
Today I’ll leave footprints as I stroll barefoot along the sand of a river bank.
Tomorrow I may saunter down a path of success.
But will it lead me out of this e-motional mess?
I’m just a walking jumble of convoluted genetic lines.
Interwoven with the internet.
Intertwined with the interpersonal.
So often there is a smooth transition between states and forces that shape our life, our personality, our ambitions. We imagine lines separating the left from the right, the upper from the lower, the North from the South, the East from the West, intense blue on this side and light blue on that side of the line. How often do we actually see lines of separation?
Where the sky meets the ocean.
Where day meets night.
Where the Earth’s atmosphere meets hostile space.
Where life meets sterile desolation.
Where procreation meets death.
Where blooming meets withering.
Where DNA meets RNA.
Where freedom meets confinement.
Where peace meets belligerence.
Where construction meets destruction.
Where diversity meets homogeneity.
Where individualism meets the group.
Where creativity meets the prosaic.
Where inspiration meets conformity.
Where integration meets ostracism.
Where respect meets the sardonic.
Where success meets failure.
Where fate meets destiny.
Where love meets heartbreak.
Where magnanimity meets animosity.
Where trust meets deceit.
Where fame meets infamy.
Where fulfillment meets dejection.
Hey lion what shall I rely on?
My intuition coming into fruition?
My insight guiding me away from plight?
My Mom, but the umbilical cord is long gone?
My rational thought tinkering with what I’ve been taught?
My gut feelings, vague but know about dubious dealings?
My horoscope, planet forces acting on me is all bogus, no hope?
My experiences tangled up among my neuron’s appearances?
The lion suddenly roars: Instincts!
Can’t tame them, can’t escape them, can’t suppress them, but can trust them.
The attack came so fast out of ambush.
And within an eye blink penetrated the fragile shield of self-preservation.
Soft, but muscular tissue could not protect the deceiving ego.
Mauled, disfigured, blood, pulsating pain, is the report from the scene.
There is no help in sight to rescue out of this plight.
A wound begins to swell like a tea bag in hot water.
An immune reaction is launched to defend against invading pathogens.
Pain reaches a crescendo and begins to ripple away from the wound.
And within milliseconds reaches the brain with such fortissimo where making sense of the pain has become in vain.
The long, silk white night gown sways through different shades of darkness.
An elephant’s head with small tear drop shaped ears are cast in full moon light.
Into the scene hovers an owl with red beak and tinsel like feet.
It’s the beginning of a bizarre dream.
Starting to blend treacherously with reality
Being asleep appears the same as being awake
And the subconscious embraces the conscious.
There is a clandestine exchange of neural activity over which you have no influence.
And that is a good thing.
Not always can you influence yourself as a thinker able to tinker with the surreal.
Let’s go back to that enchanting place where we first kissed.
Where I plunged into the glittering pools of your brown eyes.
Where you remarked on my curly hair with a hint of it’s too sexy wild.
Where we discovered that the shape of our ambitions fit together in such a way that the seam is invisible.
Where my DNA strands slowly intertwined and became hopelessly tangled up with your DNA strands.
Where my heart’s four chambers beat faster sending red blood cells tumbling into…you know where I’m talking about.
Where our skin temperature increased melting away inhibitions.
Where you whispered a secret into my right ear causing my eardrum to vibrate in cryptic ways.
Where the complicated was infused with all natural simplicity to the point where the complicated burst into oblivion.
Where the surroundings brewed into a bewildering storm of colors engulfing us into sweet confusion with boundaries blurred.
Ja, let’s go back to that place where we first kissed passionately.
So here I am invited to this boisterous cocktail party. It’s a large crowd. People are mingling, gossiping, socializing, and exchanging first impressions. I came on my own. Who shall I accost first? Will my dangling earrings attract any seductive eyes? I admit I’m not your favorite celebrity smiling at you just before you turn People magazine’s cover page.
I can only guess what first impressions the prominent guests have of me. In my mind I have caricatures of people I see. Look over there, see the long and skinny guy, he reminds me of the caterpillars I collected when I was 5 years old. He could be a botanist intrigued by and doing genetic research on sinewy vines. And over there is this flamboyant character who is wearing sexy stripped pants and pointy shoes, his facial expression is forlorn and the spiky hair reminds me of my rebellious years. I wonder, what does he do for a living? Most eye catching is the attractive woman sitting on a 3 legged leather chair. The more I try, the more puzzled I get in making sense of her Picasso style sitting position. She appears comfortable and self-confident wearing a Versace hat with polka dots on it. Smiling she waves a big red tulip like flower at somebody. No it wasn’t me.
Already I’ve shifted my body weight from one foot to another a few times now. The ice cubes in my gin and tonic have melted. I think the time has come to show my magic at this party.
The sun sets and it will be another usual night with no construction.
In the womb of the night is a category five hurricane
Soon to be born and cause imminent destruction.
People are forewarned, staying in their home would be insane.
Most people living in less affluent neighborhoods have too little money to escape, to follow instruction.
It is now 3am.
Hurricane Katrina takes control of what the rain leaves intact.
The rain takes control of what the wind leaves standing.
It only takes a few hours to turn the identifiable into rubble.
What doesn’t float is submerged or displaced.
What doesn’t swim is drowned or trapped.
The culture of New Orleans, like a painting with so many different influences (colors) is displaced.
The morning sun rises and sunrays are deflected by a landscape of chaos in which some help others, others exploit others, and some wait and wait to be rescued from an island of despair.
Finally I’m here in the Serengeti, in the African wilderness, where our ancestors fumbled around and passed on those genes that will one day make up me, a tourist wearing shorts and an 8 megapixel camera around my sunburned neck. Back home my friends are slumbering in a digital world and they warned me to watch out for the big ones, you know the lions, hippos, and buffalos. According to their google searches these creatures can kill you before you have time to open the camera’s shutter. I told them, that’s right and the computer screen won’t sting you and give you malaria.
Shhshhsh, I hear a rustling sound and it’s definitely not coming out of a speaker. I’ll stay right here hunkered down behind this massive Baobab tree trunk. I spy. Discover a buffalo. A mean looking buffalo. When I begin to feel uneasy words start to rhyme.
Hello mellow Buffalo. You look imposing and I ain’t supposing. You could pierce meeee in fierce fury just below the rib cage before I could give you a gage. Hold it right there so I can take a candid shot and show my friends I wasn’t google searching when I discovered you’re not composed of pixel dots.
Oh shit! Buffalo is moving closer and closer. Not a mellow buffalo. Not a…